


Autopsy Bay

by sigo



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Armitage Hux Lives, Autopsies, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Horror, Inappropriate Erections, Kylo Ren Lives, M/M, Paralysis, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigo/pseuds/sigo
Summary: It was so dark that at first Hux thought he was still unconscious, until it occurred to him that unconscious people don't have a sense of having been unconscious. Neither do they have a sense of movement through the dark, or of sound. The ventilation system of a ship, faint voices passing by. No engine rumble. Dead in space? Smell, he noticed next -- the clean, clear scent of routinely sanitized durasteel corridors cut through with something faint but foul. Medical Ward? So he wasn’t unconscious, and the sensations he experienced were too rational to be a dream.So what was it?Who was he? That answer came more easily -- General Armitage Hux of the First Order.“Which one did they say?” Someone asked in the darkness.“Autopsy Bay room nineteen.”//Post-TROS Hux and Ren survival
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 17
Kudos: 111





	Autopsy Bay

**Author's Note:**

> TW medical / autopsy practices, rated explicit for gore elements and erections

It was so dark that at first Hux thought he was still unconscious, until it occurred to him that unconscious people don't have a sense of having been unconscious. Neither do they have a sense of movement through the dark, or of sound. The ventilation system of a ship, faint voices passing by. No engine rumble. Dead in space? Smell, he noticed next -- the clean, clear scent of routinely sanitized durasteel corridors cut through with something faint but foul. Medical Ward? So he wasn’t unconscious, and the sensations he experienced were too rational to be a dream.

So what was it?

Who was he? That answer came more easily -- General Armitage Hux of the First Order.

“Which one did they say?” Someone asked in the darkness.

“Autopsy Bay room nineteen,” another voice answered. Hux flashed back to his days at the academy, as he always did when someone mentioned bays of any sort. It was an inconvenient tic to have in the navy, but he’d never managed to shake it. Arkanis Academy had scaled the cliffs over a bay, an unnamed one filled with the choppy gray water of the Gunmetal Sea. Autopsy Bay seemed as rational a name as any for it. Slightly ominous and cold. Hux thought about shaking his head to clear it, and could not.

The movement continued, and Hux placed it as the steady float of a med-lev gurney, its lifters a nearly silent whir beneath him. There was the scuff of shoes beside him, not soft-soled First Order medical staff shoes but mismatched boots, and the voices were the owners of the shoes. Next, the slide of a door opening.

 _What is the meaning of this?_ Hux barked, but the sound was only in his head. His lips didn’t move. He could feel them, and his tongue, and every inch of himself from the back of his head to the heels of his feet, but he couldn’t move. It was far from his first time on a med-lev gurney, but it was the first time in a long while, and the first time in which he couldn’t snap orders at the staff floating it along. Icy panic took root in his stomach, always the result of even a tiny bit of control slipping from his grasp. And _this_ was not a tiny bit.

“Over here,” a third voice called, and Hux felt the gurney turn on its lifters.

The darkness gave way all at once to the bright white lights of the inside of a ship, startling Hux terribly. There must have been an opaque shield on the gurney, and the orderlies had deactivated it. Hux was momentarily still blind, white-blind instead of black-blind, and then his surroundings swam into view.

“Stay and help, would you?” That third voice again, female and cool, unrattled. “Babysitter’s only staying a few more hours so I’ve got to quit on time. I could use an assistant.”

“Okay, sure.”

Hux knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it.

“Not me, doc?”

“No, Finn. Get going.” The doctor’s voice turned indulgent, fond. “Rose, over here please.”

Finn. Rose. _Bloody hell_ . He’d been captured, somehow….The immediate past hit Hux like a second blaster shot to the chest. Though, of course, it must not have been a standard blaster, because he was still alive. At least he thought he was. Was he breathing? Yes, Hux thought so. Shallowly, but he was breathing. Whatever end for General Hux had been planned by Pryde, it wasn’t a simple execution on the bridge of the _Steadfast_ . The no-doubt torture that had been up dear Enric’s sleeve would never come to pass -- Hux vaguely remembered the crash, and then darkness. He must have been fished out by the _victors_. That word burned him.

Two faces bent over him, blocking out some of the bright light. Rose was one of them -- Hux recognized that little finger-biter. The other reminded him of Rae Sloane, but was far too young to be her.

“General Dameron’s sending Ben for a positive ID,” Doctor Rae said mildly. Positive ID? Yes, because he was in the Autopsy Bay just off the Gunmetal Sea, and what are Autopsy Bays for? They were planning to cut into him, and he couldn’t just sit up and tell them that the blaster burn on his chest wasn’t his cause of death, that he _wasn’t dead_ , because he couldn’t move.

“We don’t need him for that,” Rose said, a little line appearing between her brows. “This guy’s face is in every propaganda vid there is. And _I’m_ here.”

Doctor Rae shrugged. “Dameron’s the General.” The implication: what Poe says, goes.

Hux fumed at the idea of General Poe Dameron, and then the significance of what else was discussed dawned on him. The only _Ben_ who could positively ID General Hux was...so Ren had survived, too. And defected. If Hux could sneer, he would. All his efforts to see Kylo Ren on the losing side, wasted. _But_ \-- if Ren walked in here he would know Hux was alive. He could read his mind. Kylo Ren was Hux’s only salvation, and not for the first time. Part of him would rather die after all when they sawed through his sternum, but it was a small part. Easily drowned out by the part of Hux that would fight to his last breath.

 _Stop this you fools_ , Hux thought, but they didn’t heed him. Both Doc and Rose turned away, leaving him to stare up at the bank of fluorescents above him. The light burned, and Hux thought he knew why. His pupils hadn’t contracted to make up for it.

“So what’s the story?” Doc asked.

“Rey fished him out of the ruins of one of the ships on Exegol. He’s one of the big bads and he was in one piece so she brought him back. There wasn’t enough left of the other one to bother with. What’s his face, ya know.”

Doc hummed in acknowledgement. The ‘other one’ would be the Order’s Allegiant General, so callously raised above Hux in station after the debacle with Ren aboard the _Supremacy_ . If Hux could laugh, he would. But his situation was too dire. He was alive in an Autopsy Bay on some ship or base in enemy hands and they didn’t know it. He couldn’t believe that they didn’t know it, that they didn’t see him _looking_ at them.

Somewhere beyond his singular field of vision, there was the sound of metal instruments clinking together as the doc laid them out on her tray. Getting ready for the all-important autopsy, ready to remove Hux’s heart -- his still-faintly-beating heart because it must be, because he was alive -- and chuck it onto a scale to weigh. The reading might be normal but these people would still find it lacking; as far as they were concerned, the Starkiller had no human heart. Would Hux remain alive to see his own organs lifted out, shiny and dripping? He thought so. He had no medical training, but he thought he’d read somewhere that the brain can stay active for three minutes after the heart stops.

His eyes were adjusting after all, but slowly. The bank of lights no longer prevented Hux from seeing the vibro-saw on its metal arm hanging over him, the one that would cut his skull open so that they could remove and examine his brain. After pulling his face down like a mask, of course, to preserve it. They’d roll it back up to make him pretty for burial. If the Resistance had decided to bother with those niceties for dead Order personnel.

Clink clink, the doc sorted through tools. Then CLANK, so loud Hux would jump if he could. Doc’s voice: “Hey, you want to do the pericardial cut?”

 _What? Who--- NO_.

“Do you want me to?” Rose sounded cautious. As she should be, Hux thought.

“Off the books. You can’t really mess it up. I’ll take the fall if you do, say I was distracted.” Doc’s voice was warm and pleasant, the sound of someone conferring a favor. And why not? Come and get a piece. Everyone wants to dig a knife into General Hux. _Snick-snick_ and a low humming, the sound of Doc cutting the air with the huge vibro-scissors she intended Rose to use on him. “I’ll be right here, your trusty co-pilot.”

Hux had seen enough field autopsies in his time, presiding over some of them, to know exactly what the Doc was talking about. He didn’t have to see the vibro-scissors to picture their long, sharp blades, glowing bright blue. It took strength to use them, and Hux knew he was thin, but he still didn’t want Rose trying to hack at him. The lower blade would slide into his guts like a knife into warm blue butter, then snip all the way up through the nerves of his solar plexus and the weave of his muscles and then into his sternum. Then _snip_ would become _snip-CRUNCH_ , parting bone until his ribcage sprang apart, freeing his lungs. If they hadn’t realized their mistake by then -- and the vibroblade would cauterize some of his uncoagulated blood, so maybe -- they’d cut up into his trachea, unfurling the contents of his throat. The birth canal of his best speeches.

“Could I...I dunno, would a saw…?” Rose, still cautious. Not cautious enough. She should be refusing entirely. She _wanted_ to stab him, Hux thought. No, maybe only to be helpful. Oh so helpful.

“No, these.” _Snick-snick_ , another demonstration in the air.

 _They can’t do this. They can’t cut me open. I can still feel_ . And Hux could. The metal gurney was cold under his skin. He had to make some sort of noise or movement, or they would do it. After the first punch of those scissors they might realize, but by then it would be too late. Even a bacta tank wouldn’t knit Hux back together. A sound...Hux concentrated, trying to push air out of his chest, and managed a low hum. At least he now knew for sure he wasn’t simply a consciousness trapped inside his dead body. His heartbeat and breathing were shallow and slow enough that he had almost feared they weren’t there, but a _sound_ was something. Not enough. That small noise would not be good enough unless Rose saw fit to press her ear against his lips. He needed to keep trying.

“You want music?” Doc asked.

“Oh. Sure.”

Tinny canned-sounding jizz music started to bop over the room’s speakers. Hux tried for a breath and felt cool air trickling down his throat in a greater stream than before. Maybe whatever Pryde had shot him with was wearing off, but even if that were the case he’d soon be beyond help. He’d have to speak at his pre-paralysis volume to be heard now.

Rose reappeared, and Hux saw with horror that she was wearing a transparent face-shield covering her from her eyes to her mouth against splatter — _splatter from ME_ , Hux’s mind insisted unhelpfully. “I’m not cutting through his shirt, right?” She asked.

“No, we need to strip him,” Doc agreed. “Put those down, we need scalpels. Easier to just cut it off.” Doc Rae slid a scalpel up through Hux’s uniform top, parting it in the center just like Rose would part his ribcage. The dull end of the scalpel was ice-cold on his flesh, and he could feel its path exactly. His nerves were in _wonderful_ condition. Doc made a series of cuts to his trousers, too, lifting away sections. “Get his boots?”

Rose fumbled with them, pulling them off. “Ow!”

Doc looked over her shoulder, alarmed. “Rose?”

“I’m okay. Scratched myself but it’s not bad. This jerk has a knife in his boot.”

“Full of secrets, aren’t you?” Doc murmured, turning back to her task. Then, to Rose: “Hey what’s your pick, boxers or briefs?”

“Briefs.” Rose intoned, sure of it.

“Final answer?”

“Briefs, look at him. With the First Order symbol on the front.”

Doc snorted. “Nothing on the back?”

“Um,” Rose sounded like she was biting her lip, trying to come up with something good. “Like a plasma arc waste storage warning or something.”

“Ooh I like that. ‘This place is not a place of honor.’”

“Or ‘Nothing valued is here.’” Rose suggested, and the two of them dissolved into laughter.

 _Bitch_.

“You lose, it’s boxers. Plain.”

“No way!”

 _They’re regulation_.

“We’ve got to flip him over for a sec.” Doc said.

“Aw man, we should’ve let Finn stay.”

“We can handle it, he doesn’t look like he got three meals a day in. Boxers off first.” Someone lifted his hips, making his spine pop. _Watch it, I’ve got a bad back_. His boxers were yanked off. “Natural redhead,” Doc noted. “Okay, let’s flip this flatcake. Up on three, you take his legs.”

On an emphatic three, Hux was lifted and juggled between the two of them. As they turned him he got a glimpse at their horrifying array of tools, chief among them the huge vibro-scissors. The room seemed colder without his uniform. Doc quickly picked away the bits of fabric she’d missed on his legs and pulled his cut open shirt off to be discarded. At least his face was off to the side so his nose wasn’t mashed down. Could he suffocate here on this table, if it was? His left arm banged down on the side of the gurney once it was free, hard enough to bruise his pale bicep, should he live long enough for a bruise to form. He prayed for the lip of the metal gurney to bite into his flesh and make him bleed. Not bleed, _gush_ , so that his captors would notice. It didn’t.

“Whoops,” Rose said, putting his arm back in place at his side. Then, sounding disgruntled. “Poe was right.”

“About?”

“He has a nice ass.” Rose sounded as though that were a personal affront.

_How in the galaxy would Dameron know--_

“How would he know?”

“He picked up some old physical assessment data that had body shots in it a few years ago. Clothed, but not his fancy General getup. It’s why Poe had the pilots start ranting about their dads when they got Hugs on the line. I guess this guy’s dad was cited as the reason behind a few scars in his personal record.”

 _That son of a WHORE_. How many suspicious freighters had Hux granted clearance to over the years just to stop the sob stories biting into his ears?

“Yeah? Smart. Well, we’ll document all those for ourselves too, after temperature.”

The next invasion took Hux’s mind off his stinging bicep entirely. A long, cold glass object was rammed none-to-gently up his rectum. They’d been sparse with the lube. Why not? He was dead. The music was turned down just a bit, the Doc preparing for her one-woman radio show. “Subject is a human man, aged thirty-five. Name Armitage Hux, native of Arkanis. Height six-one, weight seventy-five kilos. Occupation--”

“War criminal.”

“Thank you, Rose. Occupation First Order General.” The doctor’s gloved hand moved slowly down his spine from his neck to the crack of his ass. Hux hoped she’d remove the thermometer, but she didn’t. Hideous really, how far behind the rebels were in technology. They couldn’t have graced him with a dignified scan. “Spine appears to be intact.” She moved up, rotating his head and setting it back down gently. “No apparent neck injury. No wounds visible on back or buttocks. Scars present: right shoulder blade, ribs, lower back. Teeth marks on his right pointer finger, you go girl. Big one on his inner left thigh. That one’s ugly. Looks like shrapnel.”

It had been shrapnel, and the scar _was_ ugly. The injury was sustained when a group of rebels managed to suss out Hux’s location and lobbed a grenade into his sniper’s blind. He’d barely gotten away in time. No amount of scar tape had helped, and truly Hux was lucky to be alive (and functioning below the belt). The scar went up around the front in a more sensitive spot, but all his equipment still worked. For now. The other scars Doc Rae had noted, minus Rose’s dental imprint, were indeed from old Brendol, just as Poe’s stolen data had indicated. The doctor finally pulled the thermometer out.

“95.6.”

“Isn’t that high?” Rose asked.

_YES, yes it is. Thank you. I’m sorry I called you a bitch. And ordered your execution. Atmo under the TIE fighter, right?_

“They dragged him off a magic Sith planet. 98 wouldn’t surprise me, or 100.”

_Who gave you your medical degree?!_

“Right, okay.”

Doc spread Hux’s buttocks and he’d tense if he could, and then she released him. “Subject is a really good example of what a bad idea it is to try and subjugate the galaxy.” Hux wished Doc Rae had stuck to comedy instead of autopsies, or maybe had been born blind. She was certainly acting as though she had. “Time to flip him back over.”

Shuffling and lifting, and then the blinding lights reappeared. There was a beep and the gurney tilted down at his feet just slightly -- when they cut into him, any fluids not cauterized by the vibro-scissors would run down the length of the metal and into the collection drains at the base, tubing attached. Plenty of samples to study after they realized all was not what it seemed. Rose leaned in to look close at Hux’s face, and Hux tried to close his eyes. He focused all his will and effort on simply blinking, and was unable to produce the slightest tic. His eyes were feeling very dry. He couldn’t stop thinking about what the first pop of the scissors’ lower blade through his belly would feel like.

“Gross autopsy commencing at 16:00 hours, Primeday, 35 ABY.” Doc pushed his lips open to look at his teeth and gums and then pulled back again. “Still pink. No discoloration present. He could be alive.” She laughed at her joke.

“He wishes,” Rose said, and they both laughed again. Hux wished some sort of inoperable cancer on them, the kind that eats the insides up painfully.

Doc pressed her fingers into him again, palpating down Hux’s chest, feeling him up. “Burn mark present on left pectoral from some sort of blaster, class unknown. Burn mark on left thigh, blaster again. Finn told us the model, note that in the chart would you? I don’t see more scars.” Hux thought that he could feel his lips prickling as though he’d had them shot up with a numbing agent and it was wearing off. He wished he could stick out his tongue, like an insolent child. _She missed a scar. It wouldn’t be quite so embarrassing for her if she didn’t also miss the fact that I am NOT deceased_. “Okay, Rose. It’s time.”

Rose picked up the vibro-scissors and activated them, the blades glowing blue. Ren wouldn’t get here in time after all. She was going to slide those infernal things into Hux’s gut while he lay here helpless. Rose looked hesitantly at Doc Rae. “Are you sure?”

 _Stars, no. Please no_.

“Go ahead, you’ll be fine. It’s fun.”

“Uh...can we turn down the music?”

Doc Rae seemed amused, grinning at Rose through her own face-shield. “Is it bothering you?”

 _Yes, it’s bothering her. It’s bothering her a LOT. Maybe if you didn’t work to the dulcet tones of the New Modal Nodes you wouldn’t have misdiagnosed your patient as DEAD_.

“Well….” Rose hummed. Doc disappeared and the music finally cut out, and then she rejoined Rose, the two of them looking down at Hux like gravediggers into a plot they’ve got to fill. “Thanks.”

“Commencing pericardial cut,” Doc said.

Humming heat approached Hux’s belly. Hux steeled himself for the cut, unable to even close his eyes against the nightmare about to unfold. A searing point touched his upper abdominals.

“WAIT A SEC!” The doctor cried. Rose pulled back, leaving that one burned spot to sting excruciatingly under the airflow of the room. A teaser for the main course. “Shoot, I almost missed one.” Doc Rae’s gloved hand slid around Hux’s limp cock as if she planned to give him a fucked-up mortuary handjob, and then pulled him up and out of the way to look at his balls and the front of his thigh, the continuation of his nasty shrapnel scar. “Can you hold this?”

“Uh….” Rose sounded like she’d rather drive those huge shears into her own stomach, and the doctor clicked her tongue.

The door slid open again, a near-silent whoosh, and Hux would know the heavy tread that entered the room anywhere.

“Ben!” Doc Rae said, her voice distantly pleasant. She didn’t know Kylo Ren personally, but afforded him the cordial attention that the son of the late General Leia could have expected had he stayed with the Resistance. “Just in time, Rose is squeamish. Here.”

Ren crossed the room and came into view beside Rose, absent his facial scar and wearing rebel plainclothes. Ren’s hand replaced the doctor’s, ungloved. That was perhaps not autopsy-room standard, but this was rebel territory, and the doctor had been about to let Rose open Hux’s torso after all. Ren’s palm was warm and rough on Hux’s most private bits. Hux thought he felt-- no, impossible. He couldn’t even blink.

“Look at _this_ ,” Doc’s hand traced a faint like up Hux’s thigh. “Didn’t get this from the command center.”

“He started in the field,” Ren rumbled. His face held a strange expression. Almost sadness. Almost grief. Hux hadn’t realized Ren paid any attention to his past exploits as a sniper.

 _Read my mind. Damn it Ren, scan me or whatever it is you do. Can’t wait to hook your fingers into my brain at any other time. Give it a try_.

But Kylo Ren did not seem inclined. Ren’s palm lifted slightly, readjusted, and pushed down firm. Holding Hux’s penis up out of the way for the good doctor to note the size and shape of this last scar in his chart. What Hux thought was happening still seemed to be happening, but surely if it was happening Ren would _feel_ \-- Hux’s cock throbbed.

Ren turned his face up toward Hux’s with wide eyes and Hux felt the characteristic stab of pain at the base of his skull that was Ren entering his brain.

 _Took you long enough_.

“Kriff!” Ren shouted. Hux felt himself throb again at that. At least Ren’s monstrous hand was big enough to cover the half-erection Hux was sporting, as long as Ren kept it there. He did.

“What?” Doc asked incredulously, popping up from where she’d knelt to examine Hux.

“Do a toxin check, or-- I don’t know. He’s alive.” Ren told her.

“ _What?_ ”

“Trust me.”

  
  


A year passed. Hux made a complete recovery, if a slow one. The paralysis was stubborn, and there wasn’t a doctor or an engineer alive with a guess at what type of weapon Pryde had wielded on the bridge of the _Steadfast_. The reigning theory was that it had been a gift from his Sith friends. Within the first month Hux could speak and emote again (to the chagrin of everyone looking after him, he knew). It took half the year to relearn how to walk, and he still used a cane. This one a twisted wood concoction gifted through Ren from Rey, not the First Order standard one he’d used after Finn shot him.

A year in, Hux had finally regained full movement in his fingers and toes. He came close to total nervous breakdown multiple times in the first three months, and each time Ren dragged him away from it by the nape of his proverbial neck. Ren was his second constant after the doctor, who Hux learned was named Rhea, so he’d been almost right. Kylo Ren was there for every physical therapy session. When Hux had been in a cell, Ren appeared most evenings for a visit. Hux found out later that his transfer from the cell block to a nondescript room was also Ren’s doing -- he’d convinced the powers that be, probably Dameron, that the skinny paralyzed man who belonged to the med record HUX, ARMITAGE was not the threat he’d once been. Hux wished that weren’t true, but he was a realist at heart.

At the six month mark, Hux had shouted at Ren (and had sort of relished the ability to shout). “Leave me alone, why don’t you? Must you torment me still?!”

“Big words for a man about to fall over,” Ren had replied, and then gave Hux a gentle push. They were in the therapy ward, so the floor was padded, but the indignity of tumbling head over heels still bit deep.

He’d launched himself up, intent on clawing Ren’s eyes out, and Ren fixed him with an absolutely delighted look.

“What?” Hux seethed.

“You stood up on your own,” Ren said simply.

Hux looked down at his discarded cane, and grunted. He was still fairly wobbly, and Ren retrieved the cane for him, though he didn’t apologize. They walked on.

“So, am I to be executed? Surely you’re in the know,” Hux asked. The thought had weighed heavy on him, the idea of regaining his strength just to lose his head. Or whatever method of state-sanctioned murder the rebels amused themselves with.

“I don’t think so,” Ren said. “They’ll send you off. Exile. If you start causing trouble after that, they won’t be so merciful.”

Hux considered that silently. They made a loop of the therapy ward before Ren spoke again.

“I could come with you.”

“Why in all the galaxy’s hells would I allow that?” Hux spat at him.

Ren shrugged. “Might keep you off their radar. They trust me.”

“Then they’re more idiotic than I thought.” Hux said. Ren didn’t disagree, in words or in expression. Another thought occurred to Hux. “Why would you want to?”

Ren looked a bit pained. “You’re the only one who treats me like me.”

Hux raised his eyebrows at that. It seemed that time had not lessened the agony of being Ben Solo, as far as Ren was concerned. Hux wondered what Ren’s little Resistance friends, especially the scavenger, would make of that.

“Say that I did let you come along,” Hux mused. Ren’s face turned horribly smug, already sure he’d get what he wanted. “Where would we go?”

“Arkanis?” Ren suggested. Hux made a face. “Mustafar.”

“They’d rethink exile immediately.”

“Wild Space.”

Now that held potential. Hux nodded. He’d only meant to accept the barest hint of the idea, but things were settled with that nod.

At exactly the year mark from his accidental rescue, Hux boarded a ship bound for nowhere with Kylo Ren, who the scavenger girl sent off as Ben, her arm thrown around Rose. Hux still hadn’t forgiven Rose for the new scar he bore just below his sternum, but it could have been much worse. He managed a chilly smile at her.

Once they’d broken atmo, Ren in the pilot’s seat and Hux beside him, Ren flickered his dark eyes over at Hux surreptitiously.

“We haven’t talked about your stunt in the autopsy bay.”

Hux kept his own gaze frozen forward. “Got your attention, didn’t it?”

Ren laughed and vaulted them into hyperspace.

**Author's Note:**

> Premature burial horror is old as heck, this is based off the works of Stephen King, king of horror and boners, translated to Star Wars. The HELL took you so long, Kylo?? Stop to chat on your way? Resistance Doctor Rhea might be bad at her job but tbh I sympathize, don’t hate her too much.


End file.
